I like to climb. Mountains, rock faces, trees. If it goes up, I want to climb it. Why is that?

I blame my primate ancestors. They used to live in trees. Trees meant safety to them. Those climbing genes still have a home in me. 

I usually feel good and safe when I get up high. Except for the last time I climbed Cathedral Rock. At the summit were two flying insects apparently making their home on a dish-shaped stone. I climbed up on the stone to soak in the incredible view, and one of the bugs flew in my shirt and started stinging me. I jumped down from bug heaven and removed my shirt in record time. The stings did not hurt much, but they made a point: Homes up high are precious to those who live there.

Another reason I like climbing is that my brain equates being up high with success. When I was young, I wanted to grow up high — to six feet, one inch, to be precise — the ideal height for a cornerback in American football. I eventually reached that height and more, only to realize that I had not a single other trait needed to play cornerback. I lacked the speed, the strength, the loose hips​, and the toughness. Oh well. 

I am not the only person who likes to climb. Last year I saw thousands of people trooping up Mt Fuji in Japan. I saw something similar when I climbed Mt Warning and Mt Kosciuszko in Australia. 

On the other hand, when I look up at trees, I never see anyone. Unless I count a koala as someone. 

Some people do their climbing metaphorically. They climb corporate ladders: “From mail-room boy to CEO!”  Not me. I do not crave power over others. When my university created a new class of low-level administrators, I suggested that each be called Squad Leader & Petit Manager. I would rather name the position than fill it. 

Other people are social climbers. They are viewed as movers and shakers, attending all the best parties. I might go for that, but I don’t know where to find the first rung of the social ladder. At the most recent social event I attended, I met the perspicacious mayor of Armidale, where I live, who pointed out to me that I was sweating profusely. 

So I will limit my climbing to going up physical objects. This past week I climbed up a tree. If I were a botanist or a good writer, I would name the type of tree, but let’s just say that it is big with green leaves. I am happy to report that I came down with no broken bones. 

What climbing have you done?

 [Photo by Samantha Sophia on Unsplash]